


The Last Dance

by truthtakestime



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Missing Scene, Rumbelle - Freeform, Skin Deep tag, UST, not-quite-ship ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:19:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truthtakestime/pseuds/truthtakestime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the course of his career, Rumpelstiltskin had interrupted many a ball, but he had never held one. Never had a reason... Which did beg the question; what was his reason for tonight? Missing scene from “Skin Deep”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Dance

**Author's Note:**

> This is set somewhere in the middle of Skin Deep, before she starts asking about his son but after she tears down the drapes. I had SO much fun writing this one (basically, this is how I'm coping until the new season starts, haha). Let me know what you think? Cheers! 
> 
> Special thanks to IuvenesCor (here), and iknow (on the Psychfic forums) for looking this over for me and giving me thoughts, opinions, and beta help. I cannot begin to describe how much I appreciate them/their willingness to help me. Can't thank you ladies enough!

Belle was sitting on the edge of the table, polishing a silver pitcher that she'd found that morning, when she felt a warmth behind her, and a wiry hand on her shoulder. She gasped and looked up into Rumpelstiltskin's glittering, shark-like eyes. “Goodness!” she exclaimed, laughing with relief. “Rumpelstiltskin, whatever are you doing, sneaking up like that? You'll scare me half to death one day!” 

Rumpelstiltskin gave a shrill laugh and patted her cheek gently. “Don't do that!” he protested. “For if you die, my house will certainly fall into disarray.” 

She pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. “Is that all you think of me?” she nudged him with her shoulder. “Just a servant?” 

“Your lack of faith wounds me, dearie!” Rumpelstiltskin clutched at his heart. “You know that's not true.” 

“I know, I'm sorry.” She winked. “But what were you doing, creeping about?”

“Actually, I came to ask your opinion.”

“My opinion?” 

“Yes.” He slipped around to her left side and dangled his legs off the edge of the table with hers. “How would you feel about throwing a ball?” 

He'd presented it almost anxiously, like a parent presenting a child with a toy they might not like. Belle gaped at him, her mind spinning with possibilities and questions. It was a full minute before she realized that he was still waiting for an answer. “I-I would love to!” she said finally, a stunned grin frozen onto her face. “But why? And who should we invite?”

“Now dearie, you leave the invitations to me, do you understand? All you need to do is go up to your new chambers and get ready for tonight. There is a dress waiting for you --”

“Tonight?” Belle interrupted, eyes wide. “Surely that's not enough time to arrange something!” 

“Of course it's not; won't it be wonderful?” He snickered frantically. “Shoo! Get up to your room and see the dress! I had to use magic to get that, you know. And –” 

“...All magic comes with a price, I know.” Belle hopped obediently off the table and headed upstairs to her new room that was actually a _room_ rather than a dungeon. 

“That's exactly right, dearie!” Rumpelstiltskin called after her. “Don't come down again until eight o'clock!”

Belle wondered briefly if she should obey him, or if she should sneak downstairs and see what he was up to. He'd certainly pulled enough little tricks on her since he'd brought her here to work for him; it was about time she did some teasing back!

All thoughts of revenge were banished from her mind, however, when she saw the dress that he'd talked about. 

How much magic had he spent to get this for her? The gown was made of the finest material; softer than silk and lighter than air but strong, and the most wonderful warm shade of purple. Silver and gold threads were stitched through the fabric, glittering in every fold as it caught the light of the setting sun. 

It was the most gorgeous thing she had ever seen, and by far the most precious gift. She held it to her chest and breathed in the scent of lavender and spice. Why was he doing all of this? 

Somewhere in the house a clock struck seven, breaking Belle from her reverie. She would find out what was going on soon enough; right now, it was time to get ready. 

She had an irrational moment of insecurity, and hoped that she would not disappoint him. 

ovo

The second Belle had left the hall, Rumpelstiltskin had shut the heavy doors behind her, magicking them locked and commanding them not to open again until eight o'clock. Then he set to work. 

The draperies must come down. She'd pulled them down once, but the heavy, dark dressings still hung over every window and would not do at all for tonight. Something lighter was necessary, more elegant and graceful. He conjured up a needle and put some of that famous golden thread of his to good use. 

He left the windows re-dressing themselves, and turned his attention to the rest of the room. Now, how did one go about decorating for such a thing? He'd interrupted many a ball, but he had never held one. Never had a reason. Which did beg the question of what his reason was tonight; why throw an impromptu party for his kidnapped housekeeper? It was absurd to waste so much time and effort and _magic_ over something so frivolous unless...

He pushed the questions firmly out of his head before he could find the answer. Of course he cared for the girl; she took good care of him, better than anyone ever had. He appreciated the help, and was rewarding her for services rendered. Yes, that was it. Belle was a good girl, she deserved nice things. That was his reason; affection (or something stronger) certainly had nothing to do with it. 

A glance through the windows at the darkening sky returned Rumpel's mind to the task at hand. He threw his gaze about the room, eying each object that he would require, and threw his hands in the air. 

The objects leaped with his motions. Now filled with magic and floating, he sent them whizzing around the large space, directing them to the tasks required to ready to hall and turn it into a ballroom once again. 

ovo

Belle – obediently – did not leave her room until the clock struck eight, as Rumpelstiltskin had asked. Charged with nervous energy, she had perched herself on the edge of the bed until the first chime sounded. 

Before the sound of that first ring had even faded, she had bounded out the door and come to a slipping halt at the head of the stairs. Wouldn't do to go running down the steps today; she'd probably slip and break her neck like that (and she'd just promised him that she wouldn't die). Was that really how she wanted to enter Rumpelstiltskin's grand ball?

Touching her up-swept curls gently and smoothing her skirt, she descended the steps with all of the grace and poise she had been born with. 

At the bottom of the stairs, a strange sight met her eyes. The whole house was dark, save for a handful of glowing golden threads floating in the air a few feet away. When she looked at them they became a lively, shimmering arrow pointing down the hall towards the ballroom. She followed it through the darkened corridors until it illuminated the doors to the ballroom and re-formed itself into the words “please knock”. With a nervous grin, Belle lifted her hand and rapped lightly on the wood. 

There was a brief commotion inside, and then Rumpelstiltskin's giddy voice. “Come in, dearie!” She placed her palm against the smooth wood of the door, and it opened of its own accord. 

Belle gasped. The ballroom was nothing like she'd left it. Sheer golden curtains that looked as if they'd been spun from spiderwebs graced the windows, catching starlight in their folds. The table had been moved to the side of the room, out of the way and laden with more food than they could ever hope to eat. The floor had been polished to a reflective shine, capturing glimpses of stars from the opened windows. An enchanted band played in the corner – instruments but no people – and normal household objects moved independently and performed simple tasks. There were roses sprouting from every imaginable surface (and some that just shouldn't have been possible).

It was breathtaking. 

From the midst of the magical splendor, Rumpelstiltskin came forward to meet her, dressed in a fine black suit with long coat-tails and a gold-and-purple waistcoat. He stopped a few feet in front of her, hands clasped behind his back and an expression of nervous pride on his dark features. He blinked twice. “Well, dearie?” he asked softly. “What do you think?” 

This time, Belle remembered to answer at once. “It's beautiful,” she praised, unable to make up her mind whether she should fix her gaze on the room or on him. She finally decided to meet his eyes. “I love it!” 

Rumpelstiltskin grinned widely, the most genuine expression he had ever showed her. Pure joy. “Good! I was hoping you would appreciate that I finally found something to do with all of my gold.” She giggled, and it made him laugh, too. “Ah! There, see? I knew you would be pleased.”

“I am! But where are the guests?”

His face fell. “You don't like it?” 

“I told you, I love it,” she assured him quickly. “But I thought you said that you were going to invite other people?”

“Wrong!” he corrected teasingly, some of his spark returning. “I told you that I would take care of the invitations, and I did. Did you not receive a lovely golden house-message? Do we not have waitstaff, musicians, and even some couples dancing?” At the back of the room, Belle could see several non-essential items dancing and twirling, the silver pitcher from that morning one of them. She looked back at Rumpelstiltskin, who was flashing her his mischievously pleased smile again.

She had to grin at him. “It's perfect,” she assured him again. “I wouldn't change a thing.” 

Rumpelstiltskin bowed to her and held out a hand, asking in a grand voice, “May I have this dance, milady?”

Feeling her cheeks flush from embarrassment or pleasure (or both), Belle took his hand with a graceful curtsey, and he led her out onto the polished floor and into his arms. Without any obvious direction, the musical instruments changed their tune to something gentle and softly swaying to match their simple steps. The two of them glided effortlessly across the floor. 

ovo

Rumpelstiltskin had never been more pleased with the result of his magic. Belle was utterly breathtaking when she entered the room, the purple dress made for the highest royalty flowing over her body like it was a part of her. He found himself frozen for a moment, captivated by her beauty. It was only when she'd unconsciously gasped that he'd snapped out of the trance and greeted her properly. 

He faltered to a stop when he was still several feet away from her, maintaining a safe distance from her to keep the _feelings_ he'd been discovering to a minimum. “Well, dearie?” he'd whispered, suddenly irrationally afraid he'd disappointed her. “What do you think?” 

For reasons beyond even him, with all of his magic and power, Belle's opinion meant more to him than anything ever had before; and he was certain that in spite of all his carefully crafted defenses, if she rejected him he would be undone. 

He needn't have feared; she loved everything he had done. She even called it 'perfect'! What more could he ask for, but a dance? Bowing grandly, he manipulated his voice to boom impressively, and presented his request. 

She accepted, with what seemed to be excitement in her eyes. He finally closed the gap between them to take her hand, and he led her out onto the newly-polished dance floor. 

With their first few steps, Rumpel sent little spurts of magic into the floor and guided them to the orchestra. The instruments obediently matched themselves to each step that the dancers took. Once he was satisfied that they would tune themselves to follow, he pulled Belle in close and placed his other hand gently but firmly against the small of her back. He thought he heard her gasp again, and it pleased him; she was a hard one to surprise, his Belle. 

Like the true gentleman he was sure she had been accustomed to in her father's castle, he guided her steps, twirling her around the ballroom. She followed him easily, eyes on his, never once looking down to gauge their steps. Completely trusting. They moved almost as if they were one. 

“You're a very good dancer,” she commented after a few moments. “Certainly the best partner I've ever had.” 

“Oh, nonsense!” Rumpelstiltskin protested, even as he glowed with the compliment. “I'm sure that you've danced with many men more skilled than I. Like that stiff, boring old betrothed of yours. What was his name? Gallstone...?”

“Rumpelstiltskin!” Belle scolded, fighting a losing battle with a grin. “That's a simply awful thing to say.” 

Rumpel smirked at her. “But he was so _dreary_! I'd wager he danced like he talked, perfectly stiff and lifeless, am I right?”

“Actually, _Gaston_ hated to dance,” she admitted, spinning under Rumpelstiltskin's hand. “And truthfully, we did not have many occasions for balls in my father's house.”

Rumpelstiltskin noticed that she did not refer to her father's castle as _home_. Interesting. “Well, isn't this better, then?” he asked, releasing her for a moment to throw his arms wide. “We can have parties whenever we'd like!” In the corner, floating cymbals crashed, making Belle jump. Rumpelstiltskin reclaimed her hands quickly and the errant instruments calmed down and flowed back to their previous song. “Hm...” he threw a frown in the general direction of the orchestra. “Maybe I should do a bit less tuning next time, eh dearie?”

Belle's expression betrayed her confusion, but she nodded, as if he made perfect sense. She was good at that. “Maybe you're right,” she agreed. For a few moments, both of them concentrated solely on dancing as Rumpelstiltskin pulled the instruments back under his control.

“Why are you doing this?” Belle asked after a while. 

“Whatever do you mean?”

“All of this. The dress, the room, the music. Why have a ball and invite no one but your household items?”

"I invited you, didn't I?” he argued before he could think. 

Belle gasped, Rumpelstiltskin froze, the music stopped. Just like that, the truth had come out. Belle was no longer cataloged among his many possessions (was not simply a housekeeper or a maid); he had done all of this for _her_. And they both knew it.

Suddenly, her touch burned him, and it became hard for Rumpel to breathe. He released her like a brand and backed away, fleeing the room. Devoid of his magic, dishes and instruments crashed to the floor, drapes unraveled into a thousand golden threads. Rumpelstiltskin did not look back at the mess, at Belle standing alone in the middle of the floor. _Still a coward, aren't you Rum?_

When he came downstairs the next morning, the room was back in its original state. The dark drapes were back, and the table had been returned to its old position. The broken dishes and spilled food had disappeared, as had the shattered instruments; and Belle was back in her everyday dress, sitting on the edge of the table buffing out a dent in the silver pitcher. 

“Good morning,” she said brightly when she looked up at him. “Tea is over there.” 

Mouth dry, he forced a smile for her. “Thank you, dearie,” he said softly. 

They never spoke of their ball again.


End file.
